


_A Fatal Thing

by glenarvon



Series: _Brilliancy [8]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 05:45:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2536352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glenarvon/pseuds/glenarvon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Are we bantering?</p>
            </blockquote>





	_A Fatal Thing

[this takes place in 2010]

** "Moderation is a fatal thing. Nothing succeeds like excess." ― Oscar Wilde **

* * *

Damien transferred the cigarette to the other corner of his mouth, settled his hand on Aiden's arm and shifted him around for a better angle under the heat of the lamp. He held fast before he applied the tweezers, digging through shredded flesh for yet another tiny shard of glass.

Aiden hissed through clenched teeth, but barely flinched. His forearms and palms were lacerated, blood caked everywhere and everytime Damien wiped it away to see what the hell he was even doing, fresh blood welled up. Nothing deep enough to warrant stitches, though, which was good news. Damien would have had to pack his partner into the car and find some doctor he could bribe or blackmail. More effort by far than he was in the mood for tonight.

A few splinters had managed to cut up Aiden's face, too, but the damage there was minor. Band-aids dotted his face over the worst cuts, the others left to scab.

"One day, you are gonna get yourself killed, kid," Damien said, wiped the fresh blood away and went to the next fissure. "You're gonna burn to cinders."

"Are _you_ advising caution?" Aiden asked, adrenaline-fuelled levity riding hard on another pained hiss. "You wanted the drive. It's not my fault they put it in the safe. In fact, if your information hadn't been a week out of da… _fuck!_ …out of date…"

"I told you it was old news," Damien pointed out, the pincers digging cruelly deep. "I told you it could be somewhere hard to access. I told you to be careful."

"I was careful."

"You got thrown through a second story window," Damien bit down on the cigarette so he could give a quick grin. "I'd hate to see careless."

"You applaud careless, every time it's happened. Besides, the window wasn't a fuck up, it was the escape plan…"

Damien wiped more blood away, leaned back momentarily to take a last drag from his cigarette and studied his protégé. Aiden looked pale in the white glare of the lamp, tired and just a little high after the chase. A small drop of blood had dried on his cheek in a perfect tear shape. Aiden used the pause to rub it away and managed to reopen some minor cuts in the process and smearing the blood along his jaw.

"I knew you were crazy when I found you," Damien remarked. He was probably doing a bad job at discouraging this type of behaviour, true enough and the USB drive Aiden had retrieved was worth quite a bit.

"You've got it backward, _I_ found _you_ ," Aiden said. "Shit, get that glass out of me."

"Yeah, well, you're still crazy."

Damien studded out the cigarette and went back to painstakingly remove every sharp-edged, blood-drenched piece of broken glass. It was messy, blood kept getting in the way, ran down everywhere. Kid could count himself lucky nothing important had been damaged. He needed his hands for the keyboard and he sure as hell needed them to fight, neither of which would be a lot of fun with a bunch of severed sinews.

"And stop rubbing at the face," Damien added. "You'll just make it worse and where _would_ you be without that pretty face?"

"Didn't know you cared."

"Yeah, I'm the one who has to look at it all the time, especially when you type, you should see yourself," Damien nodded, finally finished with the first arm. It had taken the worst of it, apparently. He slapped a liberal amount of disinfectant on it before he bandaged the arm tightly. "Always wondered, actually, were you popular in prison?"

Currently distracted by the slow relief of pain from one arm, Aiden didn't shoot back immediately, only arched a inquisitive eyebrow at him and retracted the arm to cradle it against his chest.

"More than you," Aiden said finally. Probably true, all things considered. Damien knew Aiden's story only vaguely, for some reason Aiden hadn't felt like sharing. Must have been some really embarrassing mess for Aiden, with all his ruthless street smarts to land himself in jail. Men like that, they tended to find some bolt-hole in time, some sacrificial lamb to take the fall in their stead. Damien's own story wasn't anything to brag about either, so he felt disinclined to pry. However, someone, somewhere, really should be congratulated for bringing them together at all. Match made in heaven or some other biblical place, at least. Probably quite a bit warmer, though.

As far as Damien could tell, Aiden's prison time had been mostly uneventful. He'd collected a group of hangers-on, guys with a nose for who the bigger shark was in any given cell tract. No one dumb enough to pull anything in the showers, certainly. Or if someone _had,_ nobody had yet found the pieces.

Damien, meanwhile, had been making nice and helping out with the prison library and it's geriatric computer. Which is where he'd met Aiden, a man with all the appearances of a knuckle-dragging thug and the brains of a goddamned fucking prodigy. In retrospect it was a little hard to say who had latched onto whom first.

"I need a drink," Aiden said.

"When I'm done," Damien said. He'd moved his chair around and pinned the other arm under the light. "Consider it an educational measure from your elder."

"I can just get up and take it."

"Yeah, and then I'll let you play nurse on yourself."

"What, and deprive yourself of the pleasure?"

"You wish. Dismantling a difficult security system and earning a shitload of money without having to put on pants _that_ 's what gives me pleasure; I love a good drink and _sometimes_ it's fun watching you fumble with a bit of tricky code. This," he poked the tweezers into a bit of undamaged skin to a rather startled snarl from his partner, "really isn't up there."

"And you love telling me off," Aiden huffed. "Educational measure my ass."

" _Someone_ has to."

" _Someone_ needs to keep going. How much longer is this gonna take?"

"Good work needs patience, my boy," he said with a ridiculously stern look.

"I'm in pain and I want a drink, patience really doesn't have anything to do with it."

During the procedure, Aiden had gone from keeping stoically silent to snarling and hissing like an angry animal. It wasn't exactly a reassuring change. Bit of a temper, that one, and quick to violence, especially after someone got the jump on him and the pain couldn't be helping.

Damien had caught a hook to the chin, once, though it had been more of an accident in the middle of a bigger scuffle against a bunch of fixers. Once was bad enough, though. He prodded a little harder with the tweezers, felt Aiden's arm twitch and strain in the effort to keep still.

"And whose fault is it you're in this state?"

"Yours."

Damien sighed. " _And_ we are back where we started from."

"Yeah," Aiden leaned his head back and stared at Damien along the length of his nose. "Progress."

Damien focused on picking more glass shards from Aiden's arm, each bloodied fragment with a million edges perfectly suited to bury deeper into defenceless flesh. They'd been low on painkillers to start with and it couldn't do more than blunt the pain slightly. Definitely needed to stock up on medical supplies, just in case Aiden couldn't resist throwing himself into the thick of it again. He was right, though, Damien wasn't above applauding when he did. Where'd be the point of living on the edge if you didn't enjoy doing it?

Aiden positively deflated by the time Damien was through with picking his arm clean and wrapped it up. He sunk lower in his chair, momentarily boneless. Some of the mad glint in his eyes had dulled. He flexed his fingers carefully. He wasn't going to be all grace and elegance in front of a keyboard for a while.

"I'll sit you on a sheet of plastic next time," Damien said as he gave the floor a cursory mop with a handful of paper towels. "Look at that mess."

"Let's not," Aiden groaned tiredly. He pulled himself to his feet and walked through the dark room, heavy steps on the old wood, until he stopped by the liquor cabinet.

"I shouldn't let you near any more glass," Damien said and stuffed the blood-soaked towels into a bag, shoved it into a corner. He'd burn it later rather than risk tossing it in the trash. Some animal would doubtlessly dig it up and scatter it all over the backyard. They ran their operations out of a bad neighbourhood for a reason, but it wasn't any excuse to be sloppy.

"Try to stop me."

Aiden had all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, clattering around, pulling out bottles and holding them angled toward the light to check their labels. An appreciative whistle escaped him when he, apparently, found what he'd been looking for.

Damien, still hung up on the bloody mess in the kitchen, only started paying attention when he heard Aiden uncork a bottle, closely followed by the light tinkling of liquid being poured.

"That better not be my good scotch!" Damien warned, already halfway across the room. "I'm saving…"

He nearly walked right into Aiden's outstretched arm and the glass it held out toward him. He could smell the scotch, definitely the good one, damn. The damage already done, he took the offered glass.

"Alright," Damien said. "Just for you."

"Don't be full of yourself. I know how you got that bottle."

Damien narrowed his eyes, but realised he didn't mind all that much. "It's worth a toast, at least."

"Here's to excess," Aiden offered solemnly but the grin was obvious even in the dark, lingering in his tone. "For it leads to success."

"I've always liked the way you think, Aiden."

They clinked their glasses and drank in silence. Aiden had been very generous when he'd poured, like any other uncultured punk. Damien let it slide, though, after taking a first, slow sip, savouring the taste as the scotch burned its way down his throat and left a pleasant, addictive tingle on his tongue.

"Ah, that's good stuff, worth every cent I didn't spent on it," Damien declared and took another, much greedier sip.

Damien watched as Aiden downed the scotch, then refilled both their glasses, standing in silence for once, together in the dark.

"You can crash on the couch, if you want," Damien said. "Can't let you loose on the street in this state. You'll hurt yourself and I'll have to train myself a new minion."

"I suggest something small," Aiden said, hugged the scotch close and wandered off towards the living room. "So you can actually handle it."

Chuckling, Damien turned off the glaring white light under which he'd bandaged his partner before he followed him.

Aiden was sprawling on the couch, shoes kicked off into some dark corner. An old floor lamp stood off to the side, shedding glum orange light as the only source of illumination.

"I can handle you just fine," Damien said and let himself fall into an armchair off to the side of the couch. "Give me the bottle, will you?"

"Maybe a guinea pig."

Aiden held out the bottle, a little awkwardly in his bandaged hands and giving Damien a quick, horrible vision of the bottle shattering on the floor and spilling its precious contents on his threadbare carpet. It'd be much worse than a little blood in the kitchen and Aiden would never hear the end of it, either. But the transfer went smoothly.

"Yeah, I could do with a little more snuggling."

"I see, 'crash on the couch' is it. Bottle."

Damien filled his glass before handing it back. "Now you're just overestimating yourself."

"Sorry, I forgot that's your territory."

"Don't let it happen again."

They killed the too expensive scotch together, trading the bottle back and forth, spiced with clever words even as the alcohol slowly did its work and the responses slowed while the night dragged on.

"I've got a confession to make," Damien said with a snigger barely hidden in his tone.

"You're a black hat hacker," Aiden deadpanned. "I'm shocked." He'd thrown one leg over the back of the couch and was staring at the ceiling as if the pattern of brown water spots was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

"That too," Damien agreed with self-satisfaction. "But I've been reading your diary."

"I encrypted it. And it's not a _diary._ It's a _log._ "

"Yes, very badly encrypted," Damien snorted. "I'm your teacher and sometimes you really make me despair."

Aiden was silent for a long moment. He manoeuvred the glass of scotch about until he could take a sip without spilling it all over himself. "Wait, the one where I talk about my favourite stuffed toy animal? You didn't believe that one, did you?"

"What stuffed animal?" Damien tried, but he could already tell he'd botched that one. Took him an entire second to say it. "It was the other one, where you say, you know…?"

Aiden laughed. "Yes? Come on, impress me with your awesome cold reading skills. I'm your teacher and sometimes you really make me despair."

Damien had his mouth already open in a retort, but it apparently took too long. Damn, should have known the man wasn't keeping a diary about childhood toys… must be the scotch. Aiden twisted his head far enough so he could look at him. He was grinning. "Got you, didn't I? Stop going through my stuff. The real thing's booby trapped, anyway."

"I love myself a challenge."

Aiden settled back down with a sigh. "You'll hate this one, trust me. And I'd have to put a bullet through you."

Damien arched his brows, an entirely private expression when there was no one paying attention. He said, "Your laundry's that dirty? God, I choose right."

"Wrong way around again."

Dimly, Damien remembered he should check the USB drive, just to make sure it hadn't been damaged, or if it was the right drive in the first place. It'd be ridiculous to have gone to such length only to come away empty-handed.

Aiden shifted again, then groaned when some inadvertent movement reminded him of his lacerated arms. "I'm going to stay put for a while," he said. "You'll have to beat up your own guys."

"Got a little pet project for you, anyway," Damien said. "I've been thinking about ways to expand the Profiler. It's a chip in the security armour, personal details and all. Personal _bank account_ information."

"I think I like where this is going."

"Needs to be set up properly, though," Damien mused. "Bank security can be a bitch and I don't want to tip them off to any weakness. I'm putting all my faith in you." He paused for effect. "Impress me, come on."

"I'm not here for your entertainment."

"But you are, kid. Didn't you know?"

Aiden said nothing and Damien added, "You do a good job, too."

"Are you complimenting me? You're losing your touch."

"Scotch talking."

"Just don't try to hug me, I'd have to hurt you."

Damien was silent, lost in the oddly warm, nostalgic lethargy of the alcohol slowly doing its work on his thoughts.

"I really meant what I said, though," Damien asserted, earnest now. He took his feet from the table where he'd rested them this past hour. He lifted the scotch to the light, judging its meagre remains.

"Which part?" Aiden asked. He seemed half-asleep by now, crashing from combat-comedown and fading painkillers and too much good booze. He watched Damien from slack-lidded eyes, then reached out and put his glass on the table beside Damien's.

Damien took a deep breath before he answered. He carefully measured the last drops of scotch out between them. Barely a mouthful for each, barely more than a gesture.

"One day, you'll burn," Damien said. He didn't much care for how sagely that sounded, how old-hermit-in-a-cave. They made a good team, best he'd ever been part in. Aiden was vicious and viciously _smart_. Still a bit rough around the edges, of course, but damn quick on the uptake. From one moment to the next, Damien could get places he'd have to circumvent, cheat and trick before, and some doors had had to remain closed even so. Sending Aiden in was like deploying a guided missile, then sitting back and watching the mayhem. There was only so long it could last, though.

"Don't worry," Aiden assured him with a slow smirk. He pulled himself up on one elbow and reached for the glass again, holding it in midair between them. "I'll take you down with me."

Damien picked up his own glass, held it against the light to watch it shimmer, like dirty gold and fire.

"How about a last toast?" he asked.

 

Here's to me, and here's to you,

And here's to love and laughter-

I'll be true as long as you,

And not one moment after.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm assuming that neither Aiden's nor Damien's personality was quite as abrasive before Lena's death or before being crippled, respectively. 
> 
> While I really love a lot of the writing in this game, the relationship between Aiden and Damien could have been handled better. We are told in one voice-over that they fell out after working together for a long time. That's not enough, especially when so much of the game's plot actually hinges on their personal issues with each other. They must have got along very well at some point and you don't really see any of it, nor how it changed after the Merlaut job. So, yeah, it fascinates me. There's also Damien behaving like a jilted ex throughout the game, which I thought was an interesting approach.
> 
> I googled "Irish toasts" for that last bit. No idea how Irish it is and while it's extremely cheesy, it also fits very well.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Revised** on 31/May/2015 and 03/May/2016


End file.
